


Red Sorrow

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Agony, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Death Threats, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Injury Recovery, Magic-Users, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Multiple Selves, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Panic, Post-Betrayal, Queerplatonic Dark/Host - Freeform, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rage, Revenge, Self-Hatred, Shock, Surprises, Teamwork, ominous ending, powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 21:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Dark awoke from a twisted dream to an even more twisted reality. His back arched in agony, his mouth opened in a scream he couldn’t form, and waves of pain were pouring over his chest. Coughing out a panicked curse, he clutched at his collar, ripping his tie from his throat and struggling to breathe.What was happening?





	Red Sorrow

_Mark has confirmed that The Host, along with other characters created specifically by Cyndago for their sketches and not directly tied to Markiplier, will not make any more appearances on the channel. This will also likely include characters such as Ed Edgar, Bim Trimmer, and The Silver Shepherd._

_Though these characters have been officially discontinued, that doesn’t mean that you can’t have any more fun with them through fan content. You’re still free to celebrate them to your heart’s content. They may no longer be a part of the channel, but they’ll always live on in the stuff you make._

—

Dark awoke from a twisted dream to an even more twisted reality; he came to consciousness by kicking off his blankets and tearing at his sheets. His back arched in agony, his mouth opened in a scream he couldn’t form, and waves of pain were pouring over his chest into his heart and his lungs. Coughing out a panicked curse, he clutched at his collar, ripping his tie from his throat and struggling to breathe.

Nearly tripping over his dress shoes as he lunged from his bed, he had to fumble with the lock on his door for far too long before he was able to wrench it open and storm into the hall toward the light in the living room. What was happening? Were the others affected by something as well?

He knew the answer to that as soon as he stepped fully onto the fringes of the scene. Dr. Iplier was rushing to and fro between his patients, occasionally doubling over and clutching at his own chest before drawing in a large breath and bursting forth again. For the first time in a very long time, Dark stared openmouthed, trying to process what was happening.

Wilford had clearly been woken by the disturbance like Dark had; he was in his pajamas and was barely functional, knocking into every piece of furniture in his remote vicinity as he slid his arms underneath the limp, comatose form of the Silver Shepherd, dragged him toward the nearest wall and propped him up against it. “Shepherd!” he growled without any of his usual pretenses, his drawl uncharacteristically harsh with alarm. “C’mon, hero! You gotta wake up! You’re the good guy; you’re not down yet! You can’t go out like this!”

 _Go out?_ Dark started at the phrase, watching as Wilford continued to support Shepherd’s head with one hand and shake him vigorously with the other.

Not far from them, Bing and Google were crouching next to each other, astonishingly cooperative—in fact, their rivalry seemed to be completely out of the picture. They had both projected the screens of their individual search engines and were blending them together, scanning every range of medical treatment within the span of milliseconds and speaking in brisk clicks and chirps to each other.

Barely a foot away from them was Bim Trimmer. The showman was curled up, near fetal, in the corner, shaking more and more violently with each passing moment. At one point Google glanced briefly over to him and then jerked his head back toward Bing, whistling a sharp command to which Bing nodded vigorously and began narrowing down their search.

Dr. Iplier was currently with Ed Edgar, whose face was whiter than Dark had ever seen it, almost gray. He was hunched over in a chair, whimpering and wringing his hat in his hands until it was nothing but a crumpled mass. The doctor was trying with all of his might to get the salesman’s attention, barking at him to follow the penlight he was waving in front of his eyes, but the command fell on deaf ears. Edgar stared at the far wall as though it were his greatest nightmare, sweat pouring unheeded down his face and thoroughly drenching the neck of his nightshirt.

All on his own, wedged in the corner closest to the door, was the Host—Dark’s _friend_ , his confidant, the only one among them who trusted him. Dark was kneeling in front of him before he had registered he was moving, looking him up and down in horror. The Host’s bandages were soaked completely through, practically _drizzling_ blood from their edges which mingled with the rivulets from his mouth as he choked and slurred, “The Host…The Host…The Host…The Host…” Whatever he was trying to narrate, he couldn’t finish, repeating his own name over and over and over and twitching helplessly.

“Doctor!” Dark hollered as he sprang to his feet, alerting the others to his presence. “What’s wrong with him?!”

“It’s the same thing that’s wrong with _all_ of them!” Dr. Iplier shot back, throwing the penlight aside in favor of a stethoscope, which he used to take his own pulse before moving it to Edgar’s chest. “This—This came out of nowhere, we never could’ve expected he would—”

“What _happened?!_ ” Dark boomed, his aura billowing out and crackling like thunder.

“Mark discontinued them!” Wilford burst out without even glancing at Dark’s furious display. In lieu of his own stethoscope, he pressed his ear against Silver Shepherd’s chest, cursing at whatever he heard—or didn’t hear.

Dark fell back against the wall, not quite losing his footing but dangerously close. “No—”

“He just up and _dumped_ them out of nowhere!” Dr. Iplier hissed, sounding angrier at their creator than Dark had ever heard him. “He didn’t give us any warning! He never told us the side effects or even that it could be done!” He startled, jerking back as Edgar slumped lower in the chair with a rattling wheeze, going limp in one abrupt motion. “No, no, no, don’t—you can’t be _dying_ —”

“Doc! Dude, Bim’s going into shock!” Bing cried out, static laced through his words as he fought for the transfer to English.

“Shepherd’s heart stopped dead!” Wilford gasped, pushing the superhero sideways onto the floor and pounding at his chest a few times.

“The Host—” Dark realized hoarsely, looking down with wide eyes to find the Host’s twitching had slowed and he had gone silent, his head lolling onto his bloodstained chest. “Doctor, fix him! _Fix them!_ ”

Throwing aside his tools, the doctor wrenched himself to his feet and thrust his palms straight out in front of him. From his hands burst a bitterly bright blue glow, a field that grew to encompass the entire room and everyone in it. As soon as it washed over him, Dark felt his chest expand, making it easier to breathe. His eyes cleared, his heart lifted, and for no more or less than a single second, he held a wondrous belief that everything in his life was going to work out for the better.

When he blinked, the familiar smoke and fury coiled around him once more, but the field was still sparkling bright over everyone else; they hadn’t lost the effect. Dr. Iplier still stood in the center of the room, baring his teeth with the effort of maintaining his magic. Wilford rose slowly, the blue field of stars overhead reflecting in his dark eyes, and then the reflection was overpowered as his pupils dilated and shimmered with vibrant magenta.

He was accessing his own power, Dark realized in disbelief. Apart from casual reality-warping, Dark could count the number of times Wilford had performed magic to _help_ on one hand. As the magenta bled through, the field around them transformed from icy blue to a muddy violet and Wilford laughed, enthralled by it all.

“Dark…” Dr. Iplier narrowed his eyes, his words halting. “We need—your help—to finish this.”

“For all we know, my power could _kill_ them,” Dark snarled back—more out of apprehension than anger, if he was honest.

“Without us, they’re already dead!” Iplier snapped, voice cracking with the exertion. The healing field flickered then, just once, and Dark was on his feet, smoke, static, and the smell of ozone exploding from him to encompass the room. Every lightbulb, which had brightened with the doctor’s display, burnt out and popped under Dark’s flurry and every one of the walls was splattered with black and red. Dark let the dense cloud wind and uncoil around him simultaneously, let it hide his eyes from whatever was going to happen next.

When the haze cleared, Dark found himself standing in the doctor’s lab, which smelled of cleanser and seemed far too bright. He blinked the blurriness out of his vision, huffed a startled breath, and drew his aura in tightly like a protective blanket. He felt…sore and vulnerable; all of his nerve endings were tingling. Why was he here?

“I see you’ve broken out of your catatonic state,” Google commented solemnly from where he stood on the other side of the room.

“Wilford? And the doctor?” Dark probed warily.

“Resting comfortably. They expended more of their energies than you did, though your demonstration was _volatile_ enough to appear otherwise.”

Relaxing only slightly, Dark moved closer, pressing, “Was it enough?”

“The others will survive,” Google assured him immediately. His next words weren’t quite as forthcoming; he hesitated for a solid five seconds before admitting, “They might never be at full strength again. We are primarily fueled by our appearances on the channel…They will need to learn how to function without them and rely solely on the fans’ interest as their life force.”

Processing this, Dark nodded distractedly, drifting away from Google toward the adjacent room and, more specifically, the medical beds within. Each of the Egos they had almost lost occupied one; Bim and Edgar were sleeping, Shepherd was silently texting with his girlfriend, and the Host was sitting ramrod straight, hands folded loosely in his lap. As Dark approached him, he was struck with the odd awareness that the Host’s bandages were unstained.

Even if they had been changed ten minutes prior, the bandages were _always_ in some stage of staining. Right now, Dark realized in disbelief, the Host wasn’t bleeding.

“Host,” he ventured lowly, uneasily. His friend barely acknowledged; he didn’t even turn his head. “Host…”

“When the Host awoke…he learned that his creator singled him out.” For the first time since his creation, the Host’s voice trembled. “Mark _selected_ him, specifically, to be discontinued…to be pushed away. The others followed as afterthoughts, thanks to the similar methods of their creation.”

Dark could find nothing to say to that, but he could feel another explosion threatening behind his heart. How dare Mark do this to them, to _him?_ Not only had he reduced them to begging for the _fans’_ support to survive, but when he diminished one, he diminished all. Had he _known_ that taking four other Egos down a peg would weaken Dark with them?

Though his hands were trembling on the brink of unspeakable rage, he clenched them with an inhale and loosened them with the exhale, continuing this until he had the control and capacity to place one on the Host’s back. The Host stiffened, shuddered, and then doubled over, raking his hands through his hair as he let loose an unearthly howl. Shepherd dropped his phone with a strident crack, Bim and Edgar flew awake in a panic, and Google promptly burst into the room, all of his systems whirring defensively.

For his part, Dark stayed where he was, grim and silent as the Host burst into forceful, ugly sobs, sounding at any moment like he was going to throw up. As he watched, Dark could see blots of new blood swelling into streaks through the bandages and down his cheeks, such a dark red that they were almost brown.

Not far from them, Bim slumped back down, curling tightly into the mattress and hiding his face in the blankets as he dissolved into his own tears, albeit more quietly. Ed Edgar stayed sitting up, eyes flicking helplessly around the room as he started to hyperventilate. Silver Shepherd had to audibly bite back a moan as he pulled up his knees, pressing his head against them and covering it with his arms.

 _Does Mark know what he has done to them?_ Dark wondered, sharing a glance with Google, whose gaze burned with the same lethal intensity even as he moved to calm down Edgar’s breathing. The silent conversation that glance carried was a brief one:

_Does he know?_

_Does he care?_

_By the time I destroy him, he will_.

**Author's Note:**

> The announcement about the Host and the others, which you can see at the beginning of this story, really upset me. This story was my way of processing through my feelings and also exploring how the Egos themselves would feel, knowing that Mark doesn't intend to do anything more with them. It's definitely not a good feeling, but all I can do is keep loving them with all my heart and keep them alive through my stories.
> 
> The title of this story comes from the song I was listening to as I was writing it, which you can find [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOLCvfkELyc).


End file.
